


The Winds of Fortune

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Gen, Humor, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-05
Updated: 1999-05-05
Packaged: 2018-11-10 23:30:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11136807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: This story is a sequel toThe Best Laid Plans.





	The Winds of Fortune

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

The Winds of Fortune

This is a continuation of a story I wrote.  It all began with Here Comes The Rain.  I've had so much fun, I can't seem to stop.  Of course, all the due South characters belong entirely to the mind(s) which created them.  I just use them for awhile.   
    
  

## THE WINDS OF FORTUNE

By Patti Cherry   
Due South Fiction   
Part 7   
  

"...a three mile back-up on Route 63.  All eastbound lanes are..." Detective Ray Vecchio reached out with his left hand and began slapping at the clock radio.  On the third try he managed to hit the snooze button.  "It can't be morning already.  I just went to bed."  He groaned and rolled over onto his back, forcing his eyes to stay open.  Ray stared at the ceiling and thought, not for the first time, about painting his room.  "When the weather changes."  Even as he spoke, he knew the weather was just an excuse.  Every season he contemplated the same thought and every time Mother Nature took the blame.  Too hot, too cold, too wet, too windy.  The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him.  The cosmetic work was all indoors.  The weather had nothing to do with it. 

Ray forced himself to sit up.  He rubbed at his face several times before swinging his legs over the side of the bed.  Automatically, he opened the night stand drawer and removed his cell phone, car keys, and wallet, placing them on top of the table.  He inhaled deeply, then blew out his breath loudly between pursed lips.  Once more he reached into the drawer.  This time he withdrew a large wad of bills wrapped in a rubber band.  He absently tossed the money back and forth as he replayed last nights' events. 

There had been five of them at the poker game.  All of the men were old friends from the neighborhood.  Gary Wright, Bill Rossi, Joey Baccino, and Tony DeFiore.  They used to get together once a week, drink some beers and play cards; sometimes until the sun came up.  In the past few years, however, circumstances had changed for all of them and the games had been few and far between.  When Ray had called his friends yesterday, all of them had jumped at the chance to get together again. 

Last night's game had begun well enough.  The five of them had laughed, joked and teased one another.  They reminisced over the old days at Billy's house and about some of the trouble they had gotten into as kids.  The light banter continued throughout most of the game.  Ray had begun to think Madame Cathy had been wrong with her prediction.  He had won a few good sized pots and lost just as many, but hadn't come close to striking the mother lode.  He was just a few bucks past breaking even.  It wasn't until the last game that Ray's luck seemed to change.  They were playing five card stud, Jacks or better, trips to win.  Several hands had passed by with no one able to open.  The pot had begun to grow.  Finally, Ray was dealt what would turn out to be the winning hand. 

Tony opened the bet with a pair of Kings and immediately started heckling the rest of the players.  "This is it, boys.  Just hand it over, Tony's back in business.  Yeah, baby."  His braying laughter grated on Ray's nerves.  Come on Madame Cathy.  I do believe in dreams, I do, I do, I do.  Ray silently chanted as he threw two cards down and waited for the deal to come his way.  He held a Queen, Jack and ten of hearts.  His hands began to sweat as he mentally calculated the odds of pulling a Royal straight flush.  The odds weren't with him, he knew, but what the hell.  Today was supposed to be his lucky day, according to Madame Cathy.  Judging from the pile of cash already on the table, this pot would be the mother.  He just had to keep the faith. 

When his cards were dealt, he slowly pulled them across the table, tapping them three times before picking them up.  "Come on, come on."  Ray mumbled under his breath.  He looked over at Tony and noticed the ticking under his left eye.  Damn, Ray thought.  Tony always exhibited a nervous tick when he was excited.  Ray slipped the two cards into his hand, then casually glanced down.  It took every ounce of strength he had to keep from shouting and dancing around the room.  A King and Ace of hearts.  Thank you Madame Cathy!  He offered silent thanks as he waited for the betting to start. 

Joey was just about out of cash and Bill had only a twenty sitting in front of him.  Gary had pretty much broke even through the night and still had half of his playing money left, as did Ray.  Tony had won several small pots over the course of the night, but Ray knew from previous experience that DeFiore carried extra cash on him for the sole purpose of taking the big win.  It was his custom to keep the betting small at first, feeding the pot and keeping the rest of them optimisic and in the game.  When he was finally dealt a possible winning hand he would begin to raise the limit, forcing as many as he could to fold.  It usually came down to Tony and one other player.  Even if DeFiore didn't possess the better hand, he was normally successful with bluffing his opponent into folding.  The few times his bluff had been called, the guy had the cards to back up his mouthing off.  There was just no telling with him.  This game was no different and progressed according to routine. 

"Okay, boys, let's see who has balls.  I'll raise ten."  Tony smirked at Joey and Bill, knowing the both of them would fold, and he was right. 

"I'm out.  I got jack shit."  Bill threw his cards down and leaned back. 

"Damn!  Me, too.  I lose any more and Sue will kill me."  Joey directed his attention to Gary. 

"I'm good."  Gary put down a ten. 

"Yeah, I think I'll stick around for this one, too, Tony, and I'll raise you ten."  Ray threw a twenty into the growing pile. 

"Ooooh, Ray.  You gonna raise?  The city pays you good, huh?  Okay, smart guy, I'll see that and up it another ten." 

""I'm outta here."  Gary dropped his cards. 

Gary, Bill and Joey all stared at Ray waiting for his response to Tony's raise.  They had been down this road before and the three of them knew the drill.  Ray would meet the raise a few more times, unless Tony got ridiculous with the bet, like he usually did.  Then all hell would break loose. They had set a table limit in an attempt to keep the game friendly, but that had never stopped Tony. 

"So, watcha gonna do, Raymond?  Come on, shit or get off."  Tony was smiling at Ray, egging him on.  Ray decided to play it like DeFiore always did.  He knew he couldn't lose.  Lady Luck was with him. 

"Okay, big guy, I'll see your raise."  Ray grinned at Tony.  "And just to make it interesting, I'll up it twenty."  Tony narrowed his eyes and stared. 

"You ain't got the balls, Vecchio.  You're bluffing." 

"There's only one way to find out.  So, you in or what?"  Ray stared back at Tony.  He was going to enjoy the look on his face when the cards went down. 

"I'll see the twenty, and just because I'm such a sweet, fun lovin' kind of guy, I'll raise you..."  DeFiore pulled out his wallet and counted out some bills. 

"Oh man, come on, Tony.  Don't do it."  Gary hated when his friend acted like this.  Under other circumstances Tony was a great guy, but not when it came down to winnng or losing; especially when his opponent was Ray. 

"Gentlemen, and I use that term loosely, the table stakes are twenty a pop."  Bill calmly reminded the players.  He had seen this coming as the night wore on.  Tony hadn't been pulling in the cards like he usually did and had been getting antsy.  When he had won, the pot had been minimal.   Ray, on the other hand, had been winning the bigger pots consistantly.  There was no way Tony would walk away from it now.  And Bill didn't think Vecchio would either. 

"This is between me and Tony.  If the stakes are too high for ya Tony boy, you can always drop out.  What's it gonna be?"  Ray calmly stared across the table. 

Tony DeFiore glared at Ray. 

"Five big ones to see you, Raymie.  That's what it be." 

There was sudden silence around the table as Tony plucked down five one hundred dollar bills.  He leaned back in his chair and smiled at Ray.  The detective would have to come up with the bucks or throw it in.  The other three men glanced at one another, then stared directly at Ray.  This had gone far beyond the average poker stakes they normally encountered.   
  

"You know Tony, I always knew you were a poor sport when it came to winning.  Let's see how you handle losing."  With those words, Ray removed some bills from his pocket and threw them on top of the pile.  He had stopped at the bank earlier and cashed a check just for tonite.  For some reason, five hundred dollars had seemed like a good amount, even though he would never have believed the betting would go this high. 

"Here they are, Tony.  As they say, read 'em and weep."  Ray spread his cards face up on the table and sat back, his eyes never leaving DeFiore's face. 

The change was gradual and unlike anything Ray or any of them would have imagined.  A dull redness suffused the man's face.  Lines and wrinkles appeared where none had been detected before.  He seemed to shrink in on himself.  His eyes were glassy and unfocused, mouth hanging open slightly.  The effect was dramatic, yet brief.  Several moments passed in silence.  Tony was the one to break the spell.  He suddenly stood up.  Here we go, thought Ray, as he also stood. 

"Nice move, Vecchio.  I never knew you had it in you."  The man reached across the table and clasped Ray's hand, pumped it a few times, then slapped him hard on the back.  "I got your number now, Ray.  Fool me once, but never again." 

"Yeah, well, we'll see about that Tony."  Ray punched his friend on the arm. 

"Bet your life we will.  And soon.  Hey, nice seeing you bums again.  Give me a call when you're feeling lucky."  Tony DeFiore left to a chorus of crude remarks. 

One by one the rest of his friends said their good-bye's and left.  Ray sat at the table and stared at the pile of cash.  He reached out both arms and gathered the money to him.  There had to be close to two thousand dollars.  "Who said winning isn't everything?"  He wrapped the money in a rubber band and headed upstairs, whistling softly to himself so as not to wake the family. This was the biggest amount of cash he had ever won playing cards and he felt on top of the world. 

As he prepared for bed, Ray suddenly thought about Fraser.  He wondered if the Mountie had gotten lucky too.  "Probably not.  He wouldn't know either way.  Maybe it's time for another talk.  Like a lot of good the others did."  Ray shook his head in exasperation.  Several times in the past he had tried to give Fraser some pointers on the fine art of romancing a woman.  The signs to look for so you knew you were on the right track.  Things to say, things to do, and most important, the stuff not to say and do.  He just never seemed to get it.  Women were always coming onto the guy and he was totally oblivious to them.  "It HAS to be the suit."  Ray had rolled onto his side and fell asleep a few minutes later. 

He tossed the wad into the open drawer, then closed it soundly.  He made a mental note to give Madame Cathy a call later and let her know how he had made out.  "Nah, forget it.  My winning was just coincidence.  It had nothing to do with dreams or anything else."  Ray gathered his clothes together and headed to the bathroom.  An hour later he pulled up on Racine. 

Fraser and Diefenbaker weren't waiting out front like they normally did.  Ray grinned to himself and thought, Benny must have had a late night.  Although, a late night to the Mountie would be anytime after seven PM.  Ray could never understand how the guy could go to bed so early.  Just then, Fraser and Dief exited the building, hurried over to the Riv and got in. 

"Good morning, Ray.  Sorry I'm late." 

"Late night?"  Ray noticed that Fraser seemed happy.  Well, not overly happy, but happier than he usually appeared.  It was hard to tell.  Although, this past year had shown a marked improvement.  He actually cracked a few jokes every now and then.  Nobody understood the humor, but that was beside the point.  At least he was loosening up. 

"Yes, Ray.  How was the poker game?"  Fraser looked over at his friend.  Ray seemed in good spirits this morning.  Ben deduced that he must have won at cards last night, otherwise, he would have been surly.  As the Riv headed towards Hansen Street, Ray replayed the events of the previous night's game for Fraser's benefit, embellishing the facts only a bit.  By the time they pulled up in front of 1221 Hansen, the detective had retold the facts surrounding his winning hand several times. 

"The game was great!  I hit the jackpot, Benny.  A Royal straight flush.  Can you believe it?  You should have seen Tony DeFiore's face."  Fraser nodded his head in agreement with his friend's comments on the game.  He hadn't seen Ray this excited since the last Bulls victory. 

"I'm glad for you, Ray." 

"Yeah, it was great."  Ray smiled, then turned towards Fraser.  "So, how about you?  How'd it go with Jo last night?"  He put the car in park and switched off the ignition.  They climbed out of the car and headed up the walk.  There was a 1995 red Chevy Blazer in the driveway. 

"It went fine, Ray." 

"How fine?  Real fine, or so-so fine?  Come on, I want some details."  Before they reached the front steps, the door opened and a man exited the house.  He appeared to be in a hurry and frowned slightly as he bounded down the steps.  Ray withdrew his police identification and held it open. 

"Mr. Donald Lafferty?"  The man shook his head in negation at the name. 

"No, I'm not Lafferty.  He left already.  You can catch him at the office."  As the man made a move towards the Blazer, Fraser stopped him. 

"Excuse me, sir.  Is Mrs. Lafferty at home?"  The man glanced sharply at the uniform. 

"Yeah, Deb's inside.  Look I gotta get going."  He backed away slowly, then turned and jumped inside the vehicle.  As he backed out of the driveway, Ray and Fraser approached the door.   
The detective rang the bell.  The door opened immediately to reveal a scantily clad woman. 

"Can't get enough?  Oh, you're not Brad."  She wore a purple and black lace teddy with black, sheer thigh high stockings.  The front of the teddy was undone and most of her ample breasts were exposed.  Fraser lowered his head in embarrassment, while Ray grinned broadly at the sight.  The woman was thirtyish, with black, short cropped hair.  She stood about five foot seven in her stocking feet and weighed approximately one hundred and forty pounds.  She had large dark brown eyes and full red lips.  She made no effort to cover herself.  Instead, she placed a hand on her hip and posed seductively in the open doorway. 

"Mrs. Debra Lafferty?"  Ray held up his shield for her inspection. 

"Yeah, that's me.  Is this about those tickets again?  Look, I'm sorry, but I just forgot.  I promise I'll pay."  Debra Lafferty smiled sweetly. 

"No, ma'am, this isn't about tickets.  Do you think we could talk inside?"  Ray grinned back. 

"Perhaps you would like to cover yourself first, Mrs. Lafferty.  I realize we arrived a bit early in the morning and you probably haven't had an opportunity to dress."  Fraser kept his head lowered, not daring to raise his eyes.  Debra Lafferty looked the Mountie up and down, a slow smile spreading across her face.  She stepped back from the door and gestured for the both of them to enter. 

"Yes, you did catch me.  Make yourselves comfortable.  I'll be right back."  She turned and slowly made her way across the room to the stairs, hips swaying sensually.  Ray watched her climb the steps, an appreciative look on his face.  "I knew there was a good reason I became a cop." 

"Ray, I believe something is amiss.  It's eight o'clock in the morning.  Mr. Lafferty presumably has already left the house.  The man who just left?  He had an air of Chanel #5 and Obsession about him.  Mrs. Lafferty was wearing the Chanel.  The Obsession came from another source.  I would assume the man is involved with, not only Mrs. Lafferty, but another woman as well." 

"So, Mrs. Lafferty is dancing in the sheets with her two timing boyfriend while hubby is busting his hump to keep her in lace panties.  It happens all the time, Fraser." 

"You don't understand, Ray.  Madame Cathy said a man close to Mrs. Lafferty would have a fall from a great height and that it would be the spouse of the victim who would instigate the accident."  Fraser stared at his partner in earnest as he attempted to make his point. 

"She also said Mrs. Lafferty wanted to kill her husband." 

"No, Ray.  Madame Cathy said Mrs. Lafferty dreamed of killing her husband.  She never actually said she wanted to kill him.  There's a difference."  Ray rubbed his forehead as Fraser continued. 

"Dreaming of murder is just the unconscious mind attempting to solve a perplexing dilemma in that person's life, a specific problem that, perhaps, would appear to not possess a viable solution.  That doesn't mean that the dreamer would actually attempt to act on their fantasy." 

"Get to the point." 

"The point is, although Mrs. Lafferty may have dreamed of killing her husband, probably due to some marital conflict within the relationship which is causing her apparant dissatisfaction with her husband.  That would account for her flagrant..." 

"Fraser!"  Ray turned away from the curio cabinet he had been examining and faced his friend. 

"Yes, Ray?" 

"Is there a point to this?" 

"Of course, Ray." 

"Then would you please just get to it.  Sometime today would be nice."  He replaced a small ivory figurine and casually strolled across the room to inspect a metal sculpture. 

"Alright.  The man whose life is in jeopardy is not Mr. Lafferty, Ray."  As he spoke, he walked towards the curio cabinet. 

"If it's not her husband, then, who?  Her lover?"  Ray tilted his head to the left as he gazed at the sculpture. 

Fraser reached out and realigned the ivory figure. 

"Yes, Ray, I believe so.  As I mentioned, he was enveloped in two different perfume fragrances, which were both fresh scents.  That would indicate he's involved with Mrs. Lafferty and another woman, presumably his wife.  He was wearing a thin gold band on the ring finger of his left hand."  Fraser crossed the room and stood next to Ray.  "According to Madame Cathy, the spouse of the man is the perpetrator of the intended criminal act.  Also, the man was wearing a shirt with the logo, " Spitz and Shine" emblazoned over the left pocket." 

Ray suddenly looked up, recognition of the name evident on his face. 

"That's a window cleaning business." 

"Yes, Ray." 

"And Madame Cathy said there would be a fall from a great height." 

"Exactly."  The two men stared at each other as the implication became clear.  At that moment, Debra Lafferty descended the stairs and glided across the room.  She stopped directly in front of the Mountie.  She was wearing a short, red knit dress, black stockings with black heels and apparently nothing else.  He kept his eyes focused on her face. 

"Mrs. Lafferty, the man who left earlier, Brad, I believe was his name.  It's imperative that Detective Vecchio and I speak with him.  Do you know where we can find him?" 

"Is Brad in some kind of trouble?"  She reached out and fingered his lanyard.  Fraser glanced down, uncomfortable by her attention. 

"Look, your boyfriend may be in danger.  Where is he?"  Ray couldn't believe he was actually going through with this investigation into a supposed murder based on a dream, some tea leaves and a deck of cards.  If it hadn't been for the fact that he had won that big pot at poker last night, he would have ignored the whole situation. 

"Danger?  Who would want to hurt Brad?"  She continued to play with the Mountie uniform even as Fraser adjusted himself after her administrations. 

"Does your husband know about Brad?"  Debra Lafferty looked over at Ray and laughed. 

"Donald?  Of course he knows.  He has his hobbies and I have mine.  It works for the both of us." 

"What about Brad's wife?"  Fraser gently removed her hands from his tunic and straightened his uniform. 

"The woman is a bitch.  All she's concerned with is the business.  She doesn't give a damn about Brad."  Debra walked slowly across the room.  She stopped in front of the curio cabinet, bent slightly and picked up a small ivory figurine.  Ben and Ray held their breath, one in anticipation of her bending over again, the next time a little lower, and the other, in anxiety over the same action. 

"But is she aware of his infidelity?"  Ben had some trouble concentrating his efforts on the questions he needed to ask.  The outfit Debra Lafferty was wearing left little to the imagination and he imagined that she wore nothing underneath as he had detected no visible panty lines.  She turned towards the two men and crossed her arms under her breasts.  Her intention was to draw their attention to her chest and she smiled in victory. 

"No.  Sheila has no idea about me and Brad.  I told you, she's too wrapped up in her business to notice." 

"That would be the window cleaning business, "Spitz and Shine"?  Ray managed to tear his eyes off the woman's chest and make eye contact. 

"Yeah, that's right.  She owns it and he works his ass off for her.  But does she appreciate what he does?  She barely pays him a decent wage and he's her husband.  He's the one who hangs on the outside of the buildings, washing stupid windows while she sits on her butt at the office." 

"Do you know where he's working today?"  Ray was beginning to believe that Brad's life could very well be in danger. 

"He said he was doing the Winchel building on Monroe Avenue." 

"And your husband, Mrs. Lafferty?  Where is he?"  Fraser maintained visual contact with the woman as she slinked towards him. 

"Donald's at the office.  Probably getting his morning jolt right about now, and I'm not talking coffee."  Debra reached out and brushed her fingers down the front of Ben's tunic. 

"What's the address?"  Ray was amused by Fraser's attempts to keep his lanyard straight and away from Mrs. Lafferty's busy hands. 

"It's in the Sunset Shopping Center off of Burkwood.  Lafferty Advertising.  You can't miss it." 

"Thank you kindly for your time, Mrs. Lafferty." 

"You're very welcome, Constable.  Next time you're in the neighborhood, stop in and see me.  Maybe we could do...breakfast."  Ben nodded his head and backed away.  Ray followed him out the door.  Once outside, the two men hurried to the car. 

"I can't believe I'm doing this."  The detective started the Riv and pulled away, heading towards center city Chicago and the Winchel building.  "Do you really think this guy might fall off a tall building?" 

"It's entirely possible, Ray.  We can't afford not to investigate, if there's even the slightest chance that his life is in danger.  If Sheila knows about the affair, it's feasible that she could be contemplating the demise of her husband." 

"But why kill him off?  Why not just divorce him?" 

"I have no idea, Ray.  Crimes of passion occur in the midst of emotional turmoil.  Logic rarely plays a part." 

"Hell hath no fury as a woman scorned.  I've been down that road." 

"As have I."  They exchanged knowing glances as they both remembered a certain period of their lives.  It was a time they would rather forget.  As the Riv approached the area of the city where the Winchel building was located, both men were quiet in their reflection of the past. 

"What about Lafferty?"  Ray broke the silence that had fallen between them. 

"If Mrs. Lafferty is to be believed, and I think she is telling the truth as far as their marriage arrangement goes.  Otherwise I don't believe she would have exposed herself in the doorway where any number of their neighbors could have seen her undressed state.  Also, her friend parked in the driveway in plain view and made no attempt to conceal his visit." 

"I don't get it.  How can a marriage like that work out?" 

"Different strokes for different people, Ray." 

"That's folks.  Different strokes for different folks."  Ray shook his head in annoyance.  He thought that Fraser should have a better grasp of the lingo by now. 

"Okay."  Fraser nodded in Ray's direction then turned his attention to the street.  "There's the Winchel building."  As Ray parked the Riv in front of the building, Fraser craned his neck for a better view.  "He's on the second floor, Ray  Directly above us."  The two men exited the car and stood staring up at the front of the facility. 

The Winchel building was one of the smaller structures on the street, boasting only ten stories.  A scaffolding was in place, on which stood Mrs. Lafferty's male friend.  He was in the process of washing the first window on the level.  Ray and Fraser glanced at one another, then bolted for the door.  Before they managed to enter the foyer, Diefenbakeer barked out a warning.  As they stepped back onto the sidewalk, a startled shout erupted from Brad. 

It was over in a matter of seconds.  One of the ropes holding the scaffolding snapped, sending buckets of liquid crashing to the pavement an instant before the man fell.  Lucky for him, the Riv was in a position to break his fall.  As Ray watched in horror, the window cleaner hit the roof of the car, caving it in and shattering the windshield.  The detective called for medical assistance as Fraser rushed over to the man.  He reached out and felt for a pulse.  The man began to moan and attempted to rise. 

"Hold on Brad.  An ambulance is on the way."  The Mountie tried to prevent the man from moving, but Brad disregarded his efforts of assistance.  He pushed himself up to a sitting position and rubbed his head.  He looked around him, dazed for several seconds.  When he realized what he was sitting on, he looked at Ray. 

"Sorry about your car, man." 

"Yeah, me too."  Ray walked closer to the ruined Riv and assessed the damage. 

"Ray.  The man just fell forty six feet off a building.  You could be a bit more concerned for his well being."  Fraser offered Brad a hand in descending from the roof of the Riv. 

"You okay, Brad?"  The man nodded his head in affirmation.  "You see?  He's fine.  But the Riv's not.  Look at her."  Ray placed his hands gently on the crushed metal. 

"The car can be fixed, Ray." 

"How many times?  How many times can a car sustain damage like this?  I can't go through this again, Fraser."  Ray lowered his head until it rested against the roof.  Brad put his hand on the detective's shoulder in a show of sympathy.  Fraser stood on the other side of his friend and spoke quietly. 

"Ray, I know how difficult this must be for you, but I'm sure the roof can be repaired.  The dents can be banged out and the windshield replaced.  It's not as bad as it appears." 

The sound of the approaching emergency vehicles reached them.  A group of spectators had gathered on both sides of the street in the aftermath of the accident.  As the onlookers commented on the excitement, the ambulance pulled up and two attendants alighted.  Right behind them two police cars with lights flashing came to a screeching halt.  As one of the paramedics proceeded to the back of the vehicle to retrieve medical equipment, the other quickly made his way to the scene and assessed the situation. 

"Dispatch said he fell off a building?  He shouldn't have been moved."  The paramedic removed a small flashlight from his shirt pocket and flashed the beam into Ray's eyes.  "Are you in pain, sir?"  The man lightly took hold of his arm. 

"Do I look like I fell off a building?"  Ray twisted angrily out of his grasp.  Two police officers warily approached. 

"Ray, please."  Fraser launched into a detailed explanation of the facts surrounding the apparent accident to the officers as the paramedics evaluated Brad's condition and prepared him for transport to the hospital.  The stretcher was loaded into the back of the ambulance and a few moments later departed.  The two cops went about the task of securing the scene for the investigators, laughing at the bizarre story the Mountie had told. 

Fraser sighed deeply as he observed his friend seated in the Riv.  Ray was slouched down on the front seat.  His head leaned against the back of the seat and his eyes were closed.  A passerby would suspect the occupant to be asleep.  As Ben drew closer, he could hear music playing softly.  Diefenbaker sat outside the car watching the detective intently.  Although the wolf didn't understand the reason, he knew how much the vehicle meant to the man and felt a sense of sorrow for the injuries the Riv had endured.  Fraser tugged on the door and finally managed to pry it open. 

"Are you all right, Ray?"  Ray kept his eyes closed as he answered. 

"They don't make music like this anymore, Benny.  The stuff they play today is a bunch of noise.  The lyrics make no sense at all.  Just screaming and screeching.  The oldies, now that was some great music.  And they knew how to write the words, too.  Don't you think?"  Fraser nodded his head and made a noncommittal sound as he climbed inside.  He recognized the song coming from the radio.  It was Sh-Boom Sh-Boom by the Crewcuts. 

"You got a song, Benny?" 

"A song?" 

"You know.  A special song."  Ray finally opened his eyes and turned in his seat to face the Mountie. 

"Not that I'm aware, Ray." 

"Don't you have music in Canada?" 

"Well, of course we do, Ray." 

"Then you got to have a song.  Everybody has a song.  You know, a certain song plays and you say "that's my song."  So, what's your song?"  Fraser stared at Ray for several seconds.  He was beginning to worry about his friend. 

"I like a lot of music, Ray.  I don't believe there's any particular song that I would consider as my song." 

"There's got to be a song, Fraser.  Isn't there one specific song that brings back memories of a special occasion?  Like a first date, the first time you danced with a girl, your first kiss?" 

"Hmmm.  Actually, yes, there is a song that recalls a certain instance from the past, now that I think about it."  Ray waited for him to continue.  A few moments passed in silence.  Finally, Ray asked.  "What's the song?" 

Fraser seemed startled by the question.  He had been remembering the time when he had almost been caught in Laura Sanders' bedroom.  She had asked him to help her study for a math final.  He had been a little uncomfortable when she had suggested they go upstairs to her room.  The kitchen table would have sufficed, but Laura had insisted.  As he endeavored to explain the quadratic formula, Laura had moved closer to him, until she had practically been sitting on his lap.  When Ben had inquired whether she was interested in pursuing their study lesson any further, she had thrown her arms around his neck and kissed him.  They had fallen back onto the bed, locked in a passionate, and rather unexpected embrace.  He had feebly attempted to disengage himself before suddenly succumbing to Laura's charms. 

Mr. Sanders had pulled into the driveway a few seconds later.  Lucky for them, Laura's father suffered from a severe hearing loss sustained in a hunting accident.  The truck radio was turned up near full volume.  The sound of the music blasting, coupled with Laura's reaction had caused Ben to feel a kind of fear he had never experienced before.  Laura had instructed him to leave through her window while she distracted her father.  It had been quite stressful and Benton had vowed never to tutor again. 

"Rolaids, Doan's Pills, and Preparation H."  Ray gazed in bewilderment at the Mountie, not sure he had heard him correctly. 

"What the hell are you talking about?" 

"The name of the song, Ray.  By Dave Dudley.  I can still hear it, blasting from the Peterbilt.  It sent shivers up my spine." 

"I'm sorry I asked."  Ray dropped his head onto the steering wheel.  "We need to have a talk, Benny.  Remind me." 

"Another talk?  Do you really think that's necessary, Ray?"  Benton turned in the seat, a slight frown on his face. 

"Rolaids, Doan's Pills, and Preparation H is not exactly the kind of song to get all warm and fuzzy over, Fraser."  Ray shoved the door open and got out.  Fraser followed suit.  The two men made their way to the fallen scaffold. 

"Warm and fuzzy, Ray?" 

"Yeah, warm and fuzzy, necking or whatever the hell you call it up there in the frozen wasteland." 

"Ah." 

"There WAS a girl involved, wasn't there, Fraser?" 

"Yes, Ray.  You see, she had asked me to tutor her and..." 

"I don't want to know." 

"But you asked about my song." 

"Yes I did.  And to be honest, I thought maybe something like..." Ray looked hard at Fraser trying to imagine him as a teenager.  "I don't know, Neil Young, Heart of Gold, or something like that.  Not Rolaids, Doan's Pills and Preparation H!  Believe it or not, a song like that doesn't inspire romance, Benny." 

Fraser and Ray proceeded to inspect the equipment that had been involved in the accident.  Dief watched the two men from his position in the Riv.  He was relieved that Ray seemed to be recovered from his initial shock over the destruction of his vehicle.  The detective was somewhat gruff at times, but Dief knew that it was just a pretense used to cover his feelings of inadequacy that had been instilled by his father.  Just as Fraser used his reputed naivete to avoid revealing too much of himself.  The Mountie wasn't quite as innocent as he appeared.  Dief stretched languidly, then went about the business of settling down.  He contemplated the intricacies of human behavior.  Their biggest problem was repressing natural instinct. Most humans he knew gave too much thought to simple predictaments, disregarding their basic knowledge.  They ended up causing more problems than necessary. 

Diefenbaker's stomach was grumbling.  It was nearly time to eat.  He raised his head and looked out the window.  His man and Ray were still involved at the accident site.  The wolf moaned as he watched the men enter the building.  Hopefully, they wouldn't be too long.  As he relaxed on the seat, Dief contemplated his meal, torn between two cravings.  Should he whine for Chinese or Mexican?  Or better yet, a Happy Meal.  Although, he had just had one of those last night, compliments of Willie.  There was always Taco Bell or pizza.  He propped his head on his paws and groaned woefully as he felt the nagging fingers of a tension headache begin to take hold.  The Mountie would be sorry if he didn't hurry it up.  Dief had found the place where Fraser had stashed the snacks and so far, he had managed to stay away from the temptation; but the obvious lack of concern for his well being was unforgivable.  The man just never learned.  Dief returned his thoughts to the problem at hand.  Now, what did he feel like eating, tacos or teryaki?   
  

To be continued......Pretty in Pink 


End file.
